Rebecca Zanetti - Hunted

The bird lifted in the air. Jase grabbed a grenade from his cargo pants, yanked the pin out with his teeth, and side armed the weapon through the mashed window into the hut. “Bye, Trevan.”

The helicopter cleared the area just before a massive explosion blew the wooden sides of the cabin in all four directions. Fire rolled into the sky, followed by dark smoke.

Heat sheeted across the windshield.

Moira reached for Conn’s hand resting on his thigh. He flipped his palm around, tangling his fingers with hers. Holding on. “Are you all right, Dailtín?” he murmured.

“Yes.” Hell no. Trevan had used a phanakite collar on her and Brenna. Weakness still threatened to steal her breath. She was discombobulated. Hopefully her mate wouldn’t catch on. She didn’t have time to go and rest in some hospital. “I need to get to Ireland, Connlan.” She stiffened, expecting a fight.

“I know.” Conn opened his eyes. “What’s the plan, Dage?”

Dage banked left, heading toward Trevan’s main house and descending. Fire lit the trees on every side. “Talen took Cara and the baby for medical help. Kane and Jase will stay here and go through the rest of Trevan’s holdings, make sure we didn’t miss anything or anybody.” The helicopter touched down with a slight bump, sending wafts of snow into the air. “I have a plane prepared for you to escort the members of the Nine as well as Moira and Brenna to Ireland. The Coven Nine is waiting.” Grim and angry, the king’s voice promised the meeting wouldn’t be pleasant.

Jase jumped out, nodding at Kane near the other helicopter.

Moira frowned. “You said members of the Coven Nine.”

“Yes.” Dage tilted his head toward where Kane assisted two women from the back seat. “Simone and Grace.”

Moira gasped. “Grace is alive?” Trevan had said Moira was the first survivor of his transporting kidnapping plan. Lying bastard.

“Yes.” Dage pressed a couple buttons on the console. “We found her in a closet, wounded, with some weird collar around her neck.” His eyes met Moira’s in the mirror. “Looked like quartz, and I’m assuming an explanation will be forthcoming soon.”

The king assumed wrong. Moira struggled to slide open her door. Conn tightened his hold. “Stay still, sweetheart.” While his head rested against the seat and his eyes remained closed, the command held bite. Her mate was regaining his strength. Well, that was probably good.

She turned her focus through the open doorway on his other side, where Kane assisted Grace and Simone toward the craft. Grace’s pale face held a myriad of fresh purple bruises. Her long scarlet skirt brushed the dirty snow, turning the bottom into a sooty mess. A circular green tinge marred her neck.

Moira grabbed her throat, scrubbing the skin.

“You have a green mark,” Conn said, not moving.

How long would the color last? Moira reached across Conn to help Simone into the helicopter. “Are you all right?”

Simone nodded, quickly wincing. “Yes, just a small headache. Cara will be fine. Talen shoved his vampire vein into her mouth immediately.”

Moira sighed. “I assume Talen is beyond grateful you tried to jump in front of her and take the bullet?” The realization hit that she didn’t know her cousin at all. Simone hadn’t given a second thought to forfeiting her life for Cara’s or the babe’s.

“I wasn’t fast enough.” Simone sighed, resting back, her pose similar to Conn’s. “I want to go home.” She scooted in farther to allow room for Grace, whose hands were visibly trembling. Kane shut the door behind her, slapping the outside twice before jogging to safety.

Dage pulled back on the throttle and they lifted into the air. Blinking lights from the controls flicked across his strong profile. Brenna snuggled down in the copilot’s seat. “Wake me when we arrive at the plane,” she whispered.

Moira fought her own eyelids closing. The phanakite collar had truly drained her. But sleep seemed an unwise luxury. She needed to get her thoughts in order before meeting with the council. As Conn’s breathing evened out next to her, she glanced across the bench at Grace. “How did you survive the transporting?”

The councilwoman waved bruised knuckles in the air. Apparently she’d fought back. “I’m not sure. I imagined a safety bubble around myself, and suddenly a light pierced the darkness.” She gingerly fingered her neck. “He gave me a collar.” Her deep blue eyes widened and she angled toward Moira. “Is Trevan really dead?”

“Yes.” Moira kept her face bland. The man may have been a councilmember, but she felt nothing at his death. He’d turned his back on all of them.

Grace put a fist to her mouth. “Good.” Tears filled her eyes, and she turned away to the storm outside her window.

Moira lacked the energy to comfort. Her eyelids closed and she snuggled closer to her mate. Maybe she’d relax her eyes for a moment. While her body went limp in exhaustion, her mind spun.

She was missing something.

Before she could figure out what it was, the helicopter touched down. The snow had given way to a light smattering of rain across the tarmac. The battle-weary group exited the vehicle almost in slow motion, staggering, limping, and stumbling into the jet already humming with power and ready to go.

The main cabin held eight thick leather chairs facing a wide screen. Dage gently placed Brenna in one, sliding it open to form a bed and grabbing blankets from an overhead bin to tuck her in. Simone assisted Grace and then grabbed her own place. Moira leaned against the side, her mind spinning. Tired. So damn tired.

Dage stalked back toward them. His fangs shot out, and he ripped into his wrist. The musky scent of blood filled the space.

Conn opened his mouth to protest, and Dage pinned him to the wall with a forearm to the neck. The entire plane rocked with the force of their powerful bodies. His wrist smacked against Conn’s lips. “Take some blood or I’m going to kill you.”

Moira backed out of the way.

Conn’s eyes swirled silver, then narrowed. He bit down, amusement lighting his face at Dage’s harsh intake of breath. A healthy flush worked across his cheekbones. His nostrils flared when he finished drinking.

Dage released him. “Moira. Do you need blood?”

Moira started in surprise. She felt pretty woozy. Her throat ached like she had a horrible cold. But combining vampire blood with whatever reaction she’d had from the collar seemed risky. “No. But thanks.”

“All right.” The king pivoted. “Conn, take your mate to the back bedroom. You both have twelve hours to rest. I expect your heart and at least one lung healed by the time you set down. I’ll secure headquarters and then call in during the meeting with the Nine. Good luck.” He slammed the door shut and jogged down the steps to the tarmac.

A thick hand tugged Moira past the bathroom to the bedroom. The one they’d shared last time. Even exhausted, heat flowed through her to pool in her abdomen.

Conn chuckled. “I’m not saying I couldn’t satisfy you, sweetheart. Though we should sleep a bit first.” He tugged off his clothing.

She rolled her eyes, crawling over the bed to flop against the pillows. Quick motions had her boots kicked off and thumping on the floor. “Good plan.” She shivered in her wet jeans, snuggling deeper down.

A T-shirt landed next to her head. “You’re wet, Dailtín. Change your clothes or I’ll do it for you.” Thunks sounded as weapons hit the floor.

The thought was tempting, but the guy needed to heal. Without opening her eyes, she shimmied out of her jeans and shirt, tugging on the clean shirt. The bed dipped, and Conn rolled her under the covers, his muscled body warming her. “Sleep. We’ll talk later.”